


Tris for Guys

by quiddative



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gym AU, Humor, M/M, Personal Trainer Shiro, Pining Lance (Voltron), Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiddative/pseuds/quiddative
Summary: “Um, my name is Lance McClain-Reyes and I have a personal training session,” Lance said, though it came out as more of a question than a statement.The girl hummed and typed something on the computer. “Ah, right on time,” she said. “Looks like you’ve been paired up with Shiro. If you’ll just take a seat, he should be out in a few minutes.”Shiro?, Lance thought as all the gears in his brain suddenly screeched to a halt.I must have heard wrong. There’s no way—“That’s okay, Pidge, I’m already here,” said a deep and familiar voice just behind Lance.(Or: What do you do when the guy you've been crushing on turns out to be your personal trainer for the day?)





	Tris for Guys

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this lovely fanart](http://notdeadjack.tumblr.com/post/173273208058/oh-hey-you-here-to-work-out-i-havent-been) by @notdeadjack on Tumblr!
> 
> This was basically a 2.9k word ~~thirst~~ love letter to Shiro with Lance as my conduit. Get that dicc Lance, do it for all of us.

“Get a personal trainer, they said—it’ll be fun, they said,” Lance grumbled under his breath as he trudged into the gym at what he was now dubbing ass o’clock in the morning.

(It was actually ten o’clock but seriously, what kind of self-respecting human being would even be conscious, let alone upright, before noon on a  _Saturday_?)

It was all Keith’s fault—him and his stupid biceps showing up at intramural basketball two nights ago without his trademark cropped jacket (which was almost as outdated as his mullet) and making everyone swoon. And what was worse, even  _Shiro_ , their hotter-than-hell yet sweeter-than-sugar RA and current object of Lance’s helpless affections, seemed impressed. He actually went up to Keith after his team had pummelled everyone else into the ground, grinned his dazzling supermodel grin,  _clapped him on the back_ , and uttered the words that Lance had been daydreaming about for approximately fifteen thousand years: “Great job, buddy!”

(Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. In Lance’s fantasies, Shiro would’ve said something like, “You were amazing, Lance!” but, you know, semantics.) 

While Keith was technically his friend now (you couldn’t really go through Slav’s Physics 100 class together without forging a bond not unlike that of war veterans), Lance hadn’t forgotten about the rivalry they established during frosh week and he was  _not_  about to let  _Mr. Buddy_  start showing him up now, especially not when his crush was on the line.

So, as soon as he got back to his room that night, he logged into his student account and signed up for the first available complimentary personal training session the college’s gym offered.

In hindsight, he probably should have paid more attention to the time slots, but it was far too late now and, although he was many things, Lance was not a quitter.

He stumbled up to the white brunette girl manning the front desk. “Um, my name is Lance McClain-Reyes and I have a personal training session,” he said, though it came out as more of a question than a statement.

The girl hummed and typed something on the computer. “Ah, right on time,” she said. “Looks like you’ve been paired up with Shiro. If you’ll just take a seat, he should be out in a few minutes.”

 _Shiro?_ , Lance thought as all the gears in his brain suddenly screeched to a halt.  _I must have heard wrong. There’s no way—_

“That’s okay, Pidge, I’m already here,” said a deep and familiar voice just behind Lance.

He whipped his head around and his heart instantly melted into the floor. 

Shiro looked—well, Shiro always looked good but at this moment, he looked like he’d just stepped right out of a photoshoot for Men’s Health. He was wearing a pair of black leggings that hugged his legs in all the right places, showing off thighs the size of tree trunks (of which Lance had fantasized about getting his head in between way too many times than was probably healthy), and an extremely tight black tanktop that did nothing to hide his impressive Chris Evans-level pecs. And here Lance had naively thought that his mile-wide shoulders, gigantic arms, and, most importantly, perfectly sculpted Disney Prince™ face were already at the peak of human perfection.

Shiro was gorgeous—a modern Asian Adonis, really—it was a truth universally acknowledged and all that jazz, but seeing him this up close and personal outside of his usual jeans-and-hoodie outfit was akin to a religious experience and Lance was absolutely ready to go to church and worship every inch of the older man’s body.

“Hey, Lance,” said Shiro, smiling at him. Somewhere, a litter of kittens was just born, Lance was sure of it. “Good to see you. I didn’t know you went to the gym.”

“Since when did you work here?” Lance blurted out.

Shiro chuckled and the sound did  _things_  to Lance’s chest. “It’s part of my program. I’m doing a master’s in—”

“Kinesiology,” Lance finished before his brain-to-mouth filter kicked in. He snapped his mouth shut and his cheeks grew hotter than a furnace.  _Great, now he probably thinks I’m a stalker_ , he thought gloomily.

But instead of looking weirded out that Lance somehow remembered this tidbit of information about him after only mentioning it once, Shiro actually looked pleased. “You remembered,” he said brightly.

“Well, yeah. What you’re doing is really cool,” said Lance honestly, ducking his head to hide the smile that was threatening to take over his face.

He once thought that the more he talked to Shiro, the more unattractive he might turn out to be, because there was no way anyone was that perfect. It was too bad no one had warned Lance that frequent exposure to the work of art that was Takashi Shirogane would be bad for his heart because it turned out that Shiro was more than just the jock he appeared to be at first glance. He was also incredibly smart, wickedly funny, and unfathomably nice to everyone. He volunteered at an animal shelter and had dinner with his grandfather every other week.  _He was part of the school’s evening campus walk team._  

“Thanks. That’s kind of you to say,” said Shiro, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. He looked a little sheepish and it was the most adorable thing Lance had ever seen in his life.

The girl at the front desk coughed and muttered something that sounded like, “ _Turing give me strength._ ”

Shiro seemed to have heard it too because he shot her an annoyed glare before turning back to Lance with a wide smile. “Ready for your workout?” He winked.

Lance was pretty sure he saw a porno of this once and immediately wanted to die. “Y-Yeah,” he squeaked. “Er, I mean,” he cleared his throat, pasting a cocky smirk on his face. “I was born ready!”

“Glad to hear that. Let’s start with a warm-up on the treadmill.”

As Lance warmed up, Shiro asked him some questions about what he wanted to get out of their session and made notes on the clipboard in his hands.

(“I just want to get swole enough to bench press a tank, is that so wrong?” Lance replied half-jokingly.

“Not at all,” said Shiro, his voice completely serious as his stormy grey eyes ran down Lance’s figure.

Lance blushed but firmly told himself it meant nothing.)

After the treadmill, Shiro made him do a few stretches. They were fairly easy for Lance, as he had years of high school track and field under his proverbial belt, and he took advantage of that fact to show off a little.

Just as he was beginning to think this session might not be so bad after all, Shiro announced, “Okay, let’s see how you do with the dumbbells.”

Lance decided that he hated them. Shiro made him do squats, rows, lifts, and lunges with increasingly heavy dumbbells until he ended up with what Shiro deemed a “good starting weight” (and what Lance privately called “demonic children-sized weights”). Shiro then cheerfully ordered him to do fifteen reps of each exercise, nevermind that Lance’s arms and legs already felt like they were on fire by the time he got halfway through his first set.

They hit a momentary snag when Lance’s phone kept falling out of his pocket while he did his lifts until Shiro offered to hold it for him. Lance could have sworn there were actual sparks when their fingers brushed and it was only through sheer force of will that he didn’t faint right then and there.

Afterwards, they moved onto some pull-ups and pushups. At first, Lance thought they might be easier because they didn’t involve any weights, but soon realized he’d forgotten to account for his own body weight—all five-foot-eight, a hundred and fifty pounds of him.

If Lance had been worried about showing off in front of Shiro before, all of that shortly went right out the window by the time he got to his second set, his brain solely intent on  _surviving_  the remaining hour over anything else, dignity be damned.

He let out a very loud and unsexy moan as he collapsed to the ground after finishing his last push-up. “I’m dead,” he panted, flopping onto his back like a starfish. “My soul has ascended. Tell my family I love them.”

Shiro laughed, sounding amused and—dare Lance say it—even fond as he bent down to help him up. And if Lance held on to his warm, massive hand a fraction of a second longer than was socially acceptable, well, Shiro didn’t seem to mind and that was all that mattered.

The white-haired, dark-skinned Amazonian doing barre workouts next to them laughed and smirked at Shiro. “Did you break another student, Shiro?” she teased in a melodic British accent.

Shiro snorted, squeezing Lance’s shoulder with one hand—which,  _ohmygodohmygodOHMYGOD_ —while flipping her off with his prosthetic. “Don’t worry, Allura, I’m taking good care of this one,” he said.

Somehow, through the deafening foghorn currently blasting “ _TAKASHI SHIROGANE IS_  TOUCHING  _YOU!_ ” repeatedly in his head, Lance managed to think,  _God, please take care of me forever, I’ll be so good._

He immediately locked the thought away in a safe and kicked it into the Marianas Trench of his brain.  _For fuck’s sake, keep it together_ , he admonished himself.

Next, Shiro directed him to the bench press. “Have you done this before?” Shiro asked without a hint of judgement in his voice.

Lance, instantly recognizing this golden opportunity for what it was, lied and said ‘no’ even though Hunk had taught him how months ago. He spent the following minute trying not to drool over Shiro’s rippling muscles as the older man easily pressed the barbell like it weighed nothing, all the while patiently explaining each step without a single hitch in his breath. A few people visibly slowed down and even stopped what they were doing to stare.  _You’re welcome_ , Lance thought smugly.

When it was Lance’s turn, he carefully altered his grip just  _so_  from the way Hunk showed him and widened his eyes in a facsimile of surprise when Shiro corrected his grip. Lance shivered when their hands touched and was suddenly very glad he chose to wear his loose sweats today, even if they committed the grave sin of hiding his perky ass.

Shiro steered him towards a machine for his next set, which he called a ‘lat pulldown.’

“A what now?” Lance asked, blinking owlishly.

Shiro straddled the bench and reached up to grab the long handle bar hanging from some sort of pulley system connected to the bench and a set of weights positioned just in front of it. He wrapped his hands around the bar, tightened his back muscles (Lance swallowed and discreetly pulled the hem of his ratty tanktop over his crotch—just in case), and pulled the bar down until it met his chest, causing the weights to rise. Once he completed a few reps, he got up and turned to Lance with an encouraging grin that was just begging for a kiss. “What do you think?”

Lance eyed the machine warily. “You know it’ll be all your fault if I go flying into the air or something, right?” He squared his shoulders and took Shiro’s spot on the bench anyway.

Shiro chuckled as he adjusted the weights. “Don’t worry, I’ll definitely catch you,” he said smoothly.

His words went right into Lance’s ears and down his spine, sending a surge of electricity to all his nerve endings.

After Lance conquered his final rep, Shiro announced that they were nearly finished. “What do you say to some cooldown stretches?” he asked.

Lance could have danced if he wasn’t so damn sore. “ _Oh, thank Beyonce_ ,” he said instead, earning a laugh from Shiro.

They returned to the mats where Lance did his warm-up stretches earlier. His body practically melted into the floor as Shiro’s rich, soothing voice talked him through the stretches.

“Okay, there’s one more I’d like you to try and then we’re done. How does that sound?” Shiro eventually said.

 _I’ll do anything you want_ , Lance thought. But instead of saying that out loud like a total creep, Lance gave Shiro a thumbs up. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Lance followed Shiro’s instructions to lie down on his back and place his arms on his sides. “Now what?” he asked.

He stopped breathing when Shiro knelt by his thigh, lifted his leg to place it on his shoulder, and leaned forward until Lance’s leg was at a slight angle. “Now we’re going to stretch your hamstrings. Do you feel that?” Shiro asked, grinning wolfishly down at Lance.

Oh, Lance felt  _something_  alright.

This close, he was just able to pick up the scent of Shiro’s cologne—he couldn’t put a name to it but it was definitely masculine with the slightest trace of sea salt—and even count the faint freckles dotted across his nose and scar. Shiro’s shoulder was sturdy beneath Lance’s ankle and his prosthetic held Lance’s calf in a surprisingly gentle grip.

“Lance?” Shiro prompted, frowning a little. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah! A hundred percent!” Lance stammered as heat crept up his neck and face.

Lance would be a bald-faced liar if he said he’d never imagined this exact scenario before (albeit with significantly less clothing) but the reality was quickly proving to be simultaneously better and worse than all his fantasies combined.  _Ariana Grande, smite me now_ , he thought, dazed, as he continued staring up at Shiro with his mouth half open like the idiot he was,  _because_ nothing _is ever going to top this moment_.

If Lance thought Shiro had ruined him for other men before, he knew now with absolute certainty that Shiro had just  _destroyed_  him for everyone else on this dumb planet—period. He was done. Gone. So long and thanks for all the fish, folks.  _Here lies Lance McClain-Reyes, wrecked by Takashi Shirogane before he could even legally drink and he didn’t even get to touch the dick; rude._

Unfortunately, the pop goddess did not descend from the heavens to put Lance out of his misery, so he had to endure another few minutes of blissful torture as Shiro stretched his other leg as well.

Finally, Shiro let him up. “Good job today, Lance,” he said, clapping Lance on the back with his left hand, completely unaware of the fireworks currently going off in Lance’s brain like it was the Fourth of July and New Year’s Day all at once. “Have you thought about signing up for more personal training sessions?”

Lance winced. “Sorry, Shiro. I’d totally do more if I could but I don’t really have the cash for it.”

Shiro didn’t seem phased at all. “No worries, I get that.” He dropped his hand and it took all of Lance’s willpower to keep from whining at the loss of contact. “But if you ever want any tips, just let me know. You know where to find me.” He grinned and Lance could have sworn his teeth actually sparkled, if only for a millisecond.

Lance could only nod in response before making his way to the exit. His brain was already starting to come up with possible scenarios to elicit Shiro’s help because there was no way he could ever reveal that this whole thing had spiralled out of his rivalry with Keith. There were a lot of things Lance was already taking to the grave with him and this was going to be one of them.

He was halfway out the door when he heard Shiro call his name. He paused and waited as the older man jogged up to him. “Here, I almost forgot to give your phone back,” he said, handing it over.

“Shit! Thanks, Shiro!”

“No problem.” Shiro paused and smiled softly down at him. Lance’s poor heart promptly exploded into a million pieces. “But seriously, let me know if you ever need anything, even if it isn’t gym-related.”

Thankfully, before Lance could say something tremendously cheesy like, “All I need is you,” Shiro was already turning around to head back into the gym.

Lance clutched his phone to his chest and didn’t bother trying to resist grinning maniacally at the fact that he just spent a  _whole hour_  sweating and exerting himself physically with Shiro.

(Okay, it was more like Lance did all of that while Shiro watched—and it wasn’t even the fun kind—but semantics.)

He frowned when his fingers brushed an unfamiliar texture along the back of his phone and he turned it over, finding a neon yellow post-it note taped to it.

> _And just in case you ever want to go out, here’s my number:_  
>  _XXX-XXX-XXXX_  
>  _Shiro xx_

Lance blinked at the note. He blinked again.  _‘Go out’? Does he mean as in…_

He whipped his head up just in time to see Shiro finishing up a conversation with the girl at the front desk. Shiro raised his head and met Lance’s gaze.

Then he winked.

Lance immediately decided on two things:

One, as much as he was loath to do so, he needed to send Keith a fruit basket or something as thanks for indirectly being the cause to the sudden dramatic upgrade to his love life.

And two, he was going to take Shiro out on  _the best date of his life._

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me about all things Voltron on my VLD blog [@oricnde](http://oricnde.tumblr.com) and anything else on my main [@britomarttis](http://britomarttis.tumblr.com)!


End file.
